


Double Cherry Pie

by WhoopsOK



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - No Monsters, Blood, Established Relationship, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Kinktober 2018, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Messy, Oral Sex, Squick, past unhealthy relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 14:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16812166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhoopsOK/pseuds/WhoopsOK
Summary: “Dean, I bleed a lot.”That’s not a no and Dean knows it, judging by the smirk creeping over his face when he shrugs. “I got black towels. And a shower with hot water,” he kisses her again, deeply, like they hadn’t even paused, only to whisper against her lips. “And a willing tongue.”(Dean and Donna have a bloody good time.)





	Double Cherry Pie

**Author's Note:**

> Kinktober Day 8: Blood
> 
> The blood in this fic is menstrual blood, so if that’s going to squick you, turn back now, doll.
> 
> Also, now is the time to remember. Kinktober isn’t a month…it’s a lifestyle. [sick guitar riff, fade to black]

Sometimes Dean greets her hands first and Donna never gets used to this.

Donna realizes she’s been in a long string of bad relationships, but she’s still getting used to the idea that she deserves—and has!—someone better. It’s new, the idea that someone could just be genuinely happy to see her at the end of the day. Not too tired to listen to her talk, not annoyed dinner isn’t ready, not laughing at her lingerie, not already on the way back out the door to meet someone else prettier or thinner; just happy to see her. Dean is a marvel to her in that when he comes over it’s always like he’s coming home _to her_ , because he _loves_ her and wants to be wherever she is, wants _her._ The easy joy that takes over his face when he sees her, the relief that eases his shoulders, always makes her warm before he even makes it over to kiss her hello.

Today, though, she was planning on staying in alone with a carton of Happy Tracks and a heating pad. At least she was until she gets a text from Dean, “ _Is your key to my place as lonely as the lock on my front door?_ ” and she suddenly wants to be on his couch more than she wants to be in her own bed.

There’s a moment where she hesitates, almost goes riffling through her closet, to unknot her messy bun into something classier, but she stops in the middle of her apartment before she can work herself into a fuss. Oh, Dean is more than worth the fuss, cleans up just as nice for her as she does for him. But Donna challenges herself not to perform for him, because he has never once asked her to, least of all when they’re hanging out at home. She unlocks the door across the hall in sweats, no bra, and a ratty t-shirt because she’s achy and a little tired and doesn’t need a full face of make up to sit on his couch. Still, when she pushes the door open, she can’t help the tiny spark of anxiety in her chest that she doesn’t look good enough for him.

Well, good luck telling Dean that, because his face goes all love-struck and sweet as soon as he lays eyes on her.

“I heard there was a lonely lock around here?” she smiles.

“Not anymore,” he replies, coming over to pull her in by the waist. “Hey, hon.”

“Hey yourself, handsome,” Donna grins back, before he presses his lips against her smile.

It’s the same sort of pleasantly happy thing it normally is, as are his hands, warm through her worn-thin _Voodoo Doughnut’s_ shirt. She feels the moment the intent shifts, though, because Dean shifts with it, Donna’s back meeting the door as he does. Instinct at this point, Donna hums a little and lets him deepen the kiss, a shiver running through her when his thumb pushes up her shirt to press at her bare side. It’s all just warm until a tiny rolling cramp mixes with the warmth in her stomach when Dean presses his thigh up against her crotch. She has a horrible flash of waking up to Doug screaming at her, blood on his thigh from where he’d slept against her back. It makes her lock down suddenly in the present, going tense all over.

Dean stops instantly, eases back some to look at her, concerned. “Woah, you ok?”

“Yes! I—No. I'm—.” Donna feels a flush creeping up her neck, annoyed at herself for stumbling over something so simple as a _period_ , but still half wishing she’d just stayed home. “S—” She stops her apology before she can voice it, mumbles, “I’m on my cycle.”

Dean pauses at that. “…Ok,” he says, but then leans down to kiss her again. "Does that mean I can fuck you raw?”

Donna's ears start ringing. “ _What?_ ”

“You can say no, D,” Dean chuckles, easing his hand out from under her shirt.

“I’m n—You just—,” Donna is flabbergasted, doesn’t even know where to begin. “Dean, I bleed _a lot_.”

That’s not a no and Dean knows it, judging by the smirk creeping over his face when he shrugs. “I got black towels. And a shower with hot water,” he kisses her again, deeply, like they hadn’t even paused, only to whisper against her lips. “And a willing tongue.”

This has to be a fever dream. “You’re serious,” she deadpans, reaching up to hold his sides.

“Yeah, hon,” Dean replies, “But I also have cookies and a couch with our name on it if you’re not down.”

There’s a moment of ingrained hesitation, of feeling too dirty to let Dean touch her. But Dean _is_ touching her; he hasn’t let her go, hasn’t reacted with disgust. More than anything, he looks like he’s walking himself _back_ from being actively aroused. When Donna pulls him against her, it feels daring, to let him press his erection against her hip as his eyebrows raise in delighted surprise. “I don’t know how to do this without causing a murder scene,” she says and Dean laughs, takes that for the permission it is. He’s kissing her throat, making her voice stumble. “I-I wasn’t just saying that to shut you down, I do bleed a lot.”

“Yea? ‘s just wetter,” Dean says, feeling her up, chuckling as she shudders under his hands. Though, he pauses when his hand creeps down across her crotch. “Tampon?” he asks, sounding pleasantly surprised to not have his ability to find her clit hindered by a pad as he slips his hand into her pants.

Donna gasps at the sensation of his fingers tickling over her panties, pressing her forehead against his throat as her hips twitch into his hand. “No, it’s—I’m wearing a softcup.”

“A _cup_?” Dean says and his confusion makes her laugh a little. “What! That’s a new one! How do I get it out?”

“Nowhere near carpet,” Donna answers, letting out a mournful little breath when he stops massaging her arousal to take her by the hand. He knows his apartment very well, manages to get her all the way to the bathroom without tripping on anything. They’re stripping each other with the usual familiarity, always haphazardly because they can’t help but touch any skin presented to them. Dean’s breath hitches when Donna softly drags her nails down his tummy and Donna moans when his fingers swirl her nipples.

Dean actually only has one black towel, but the other is dark enough that he doesn’t seem to care about the stains they might be about to leave behind even when she tries to warn him. He tosses the comforter aside and folds the towels on the bed. Donna is genuinely wondering if she can walk that far without dripping, figures she’ll cover herself with her hand if she has to because, _fuck_ , the look on Dean’s face has the ache in her pussy turning almost pleasant.

Watching Dean go to his knees before her is nearly an out of body experience. He kisses her belly button, then just above her pubic area, “How do I get it out?”

Donna swallows, moving over until she’s standing above the toilet. She shows him with her fingers, “You’ll feel it. Just pull down, it’s gonna— _oh._ ” She lets out a shaky breath when he kisses her clit, sliding his fingers back to her entrance. Instinctually, she shifts her legs wider, her whole body shuddering when Dean’s fingers press in and find the rim of her softcup.

Then Dean looks down to watch with interest as it slides free, spilling blood hot and thick into his hand. “Huh!”

“Throw it away, you weirdo,” Donna laughs, one hand over her face, because she can’t _believe_ this is actually happening.

“What! That’s cool,” Dean retorts, but drops it in the trash. Donna goes up on her toes when he slides his fingers back into her. “Corkin’ it.”

The loud, startled laughter that escapes her makes him chuckle even as she swats his shoulder. “Dean Winchester, if you don’t get me to that bed—.” Dean doesn’t hesitate to move with her, letting her flop back onto the little towel throne he’d made for her. She lays back, expecting him to crawl over her, but feels him hesitate and looks up at him, suddenly nervous. “Dean?”

Dean licks his lips, looking a little sheepish. “Ah… Can I still eat you out?”

“Do you still _want_ to?” Donna asks, “I know it’s a lot, we don’t have to—” His fingers curling up into her spot feel so much more sensitive than usual it makes her jam her heel into the bed, whining in her throat. “Oh, _oh_.”

“Oh, I still want to,” Dean tells her, watching rapt as she starts to tremble just from his fingers. “I’m asking if you’re down with it.”

Donna loves him so fucking much. There’s a part of her that’s still a little freaked out at the premise of being touched on her period, but Dean doesn’t look disgusted, his arousal still standing hard between his thighs even with her blood on his hand. And Donna does feel good, this _feels good_ and Dean wants it, too. “Dean, I’m so turned on I’m shaking. I’ll tell you if that changes.”

Dean smirks at her and she swallows, smiling back nervously.

Then Dean proceeds to go to town on her, and it’s all she can do to focus on breathing.

There are people who like to brag about how good they are at giving head, but Dean doesn’t have to. His tongue does all the work for him without having to say a word. Dean always wants to make Donna come several times before he even tries to fuck her. Generally, it’s so good he succeeds in getting her boneless and shameless enough to beg for it. Today, Donna’s pretty sure this counts as a near death experience, borders on something spiritual. He doesn’t pull any punches because of the blood and she’s already so tender, by her third orgasm, they all start blending together and she can’t stop shaking, everything feeling like too much and not enough at once.

“Oh gosh, jeez, _fuck,_ Dean, please,” she pants, voice a tinge frantic and probably pulling his hair a little too hard. “Please, I want _you_.”

There’s something, some part of Donna’s animal hindbrain that should shy away from the idea of something hovering over her with blood smeared on its face. But Donna can’t mistake the way her heart tumbles in her chest for fear, even when Dean looks up at her wild eyed and slick with her blood. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, doing nothing but making a bigger mess. “Did you ever say if I could come in you?”

“Oh _jeez_ , Dean,” Donna gasps, “If you did all that and _didn’t_ I might have a heart attack.”

A feral smile stretches over his face and Donna’s pussy throbs as she finds herself feeling delightfully cornered. When he leans over her, it feels only natural to kiss him, even if the tackiness of his lips startles her. She expects to recoil, to be disgusted but it’s… actually just blood. It’s weird, it’s _bizarre_ , but it’s not awful and she’s so fucking turned on right now, she can’t be arsed to think about what she’s doing beyond that. Dean’s groaning into her mouth, shaking as he guides his cock into her—nothing else matters.

For a moment, Donna can only gasp against him, open mouthed and nearly seeing stars. But when she realizes he’s waiting for her, she nips at his lip. “Come on, hon,” she begs, “You’ve been so freakin’ good, Dean. I know you want it. Come in me, give it—.”

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Dean exclaims, thrusting into her so desperately all she can do is wrap her legs around him and hold on. His clean hand curls into her hair, his other hand going down to her clit to leave her wailing, clenching, this last orgasm sore but _so much deeper_ than the others that she feels tears spring to her eyes. Dean seems too lost for words, but the broken way he groans as his hips press up hard against her, locked there save for minute pulsing feels so reverent and lovely she coos at him tearfully.

They’re a fucking _mess._

When Dean sits back some, Donna is still somehow shocked to see her blood on his face. “Aw, geez, it’s a horror movie,” she says, rubbing as his cheek, then looks down to find he’s got blood up his crotch and has managed to leave a hand print on his sheets. She winces. “So much for the towels… I can salvage the—”

Dean kisses her cheek, unbothered. “Probably should get black sheets anyway.”

Staring at him, Donna can’t help but feel like she’s the luckiest girl in the whole world. “You are truly something else, you know that?”

Giving her a sweet smile, Dean kisses her again, smothering the little noise she makes when he pulls out. “Come on, we gotta clean up quick, I want ice cream.”

“ _That’s_ why we gotta hurry?” Donna laughs, but gets up agreeably, already feeling much better than earlier.

Even with the time it takes to clean up the mess they’ve made, she thinks—with Dean’s legs thrown over her lap as they eat Blue Bell on the couch—this is definitely something she’d like to do again.

Periods seem like they might be a little less dreadful going forward.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading…sometimes it requires making a mess to do it right!
> 
> Guess who got hung up on the logistics of period sex?
> 
> Yes, I’m singing the softcup gospel, I hate tampons. Also, blood doesn’t smell nearly as bad when it hasn’t been festering in cotton for hours, who’da thought?


End file.
